


Letting Go

by LotusLines



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, Faberry, Quinn-centric, Romance, Two Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-18 17:08:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15490656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LotusLines/pseuds/LotusLines
Summary: In my fantasies, Rachel tells me I can be all I want and have all I want. Even, somehow, including her. In my fantasies Rachel breaks all of my restraint. Quinn-centric. Faberry.





	1. Part 1

My father has always emphasized the value of restraint. 

Even when he exercised none himself, my sister and I had no such freedoms. That helplessness probably translated into Quinn as soon as I had rid myself of Lucy. It took no time transforming into ruthlessness and cruelty from my newfound access to power. Lucy, never knew power, Lucy only knew restraint. In my early years as Quinn power coursed through me like a turret, relentless in its attacks toward all who approached, but it was all a lie. Power fueled by fear isn’t real, it’s just loud, and all I knew was screaming. In my final months of high school I can definitely say that fear has subsided. Steadily replaced by virtues like wisdom and kindness, I can say that I’ve honestly never felt more at peace with who I am and where I stand. 

There’s just a couple of complications I have left to deal with, both of them bringing me back to my familiarity with restraint. My whole life is now set before me: Yale, marriage, children, some quaint side job to keep me busy while my husband goes to “work” with some young secretary. It all seems almost perfect and yet I feel the impulsive urge to burn it all to the ground. So that’s my first problem, despite my peace with the present, my self-destructive impulses bite at my plans for the future. They spit at my figurative cheating husband and my obscenely large house in the suburbs and my inevitably spoiled children. They whisper about dreams of drama and spotlight, adventure and spontaneity, true, terrifying, and passionate love with a girl yearning for the same fate in a big city. 

Leading me to my second complication: Rachel Berry. Like I’ve said before, I’m at peace with my current self, and that includes my fluid sexuality. I have no inner turmoil about my wild fantasy where one day she turns around in the middle of the hallway and asks me to go to New York with her. She tells me she’s scared and she knows that Finn isn’t going to be able to follow her. That she’s desperate for the city, but she’s never considered the reality that she will be alone. She says she’s always been so, but swimming in a pool isn’t the same as the ocean, and she’s wary of the unknowns of the deep, deep blue of New York. Even though I haven’t told a soul, she magically knows about my acceptance to Columbia’s Drama and Theatre Arts program, and she begs me to take it instead of Yale. To follow my dreams and pursue the life I’ve secretly wished for, but was too scared to fight for. In my fantasies, Rachel tells me I can be all I want and have all I want, even, somehow, including her. 

In my fantasies Rachel breaks all of my restraint. 

 

In early October was when I found out that Ms. Corcoran had accepted a teaching job at McKinley. At the time she seemed to have been taunting me with her happy home life with my perfect, perfect daughter. I teased the thought of sabotage and deceit to attempt to take Beth back, the solution to my dilemmas about the future all packaged into one tiny 1 year old. With my new perspective on everything now it might not have been Beth that I wanted, no matter how much I love her, but the idea of a plan after high school. A chance to throw my whole life away for a child that could do better than me in the future, an excuse to give up every dream that I had with the idea I needed to go straight to work to support her. That raising her together with Puck was the best situation and I was lucky to also have someone to help us both at the same time. 

I’m ashamed of the girl I was in early October. Not because I thought of the plot to steal Beth back, but that when it came down to it, I wasn’t thinking of my daughter, I was only thinking of myself.

I never went through with any of my schemes. When Ms. Corcoran told me to drop the skank act I responded immediately even though the skanks weren’t happy about it, especially the Mack. I stopped hanging out with them, dyed my hair blonde, and got rid of the piercing; now the only relic from that summer is the occasional taste for hardcore music. I was always pretty used to someone screaming in my ear. I see Beth every other weekend now and Ms. Corcoran has recently started to trust me alone with her. It’s good that she thinks I won’t run away with her daughter, besides even if I did, I wouldn’t really have a place to go.

In February I almost died. I was in a coma for a week and in the hospital for a couple more. I remember the car crash like it was yesterday, and if I close my eyes for long enough and think just a bit about that highway it’s almost like I can feel my bones cracking under the pressure of that truck all over again. Santana hates it whenever I talk like that, she says for the first time in her life I was able to actually scare her when she heard the news. She says it would have been kind of funny if I wasn’t on my deathbed and all, but that’s just Santana and her screwed up defense mechanisms. When I woke up Brittany wouldn’t stop hugging me until the nurses told them both that visiting hours were over, but even then she just held tighter. I remember the nurses moving to pull her off of me before Santana pounced like the guardian she’s always been. They left as security was on their way.

Surgery, physical therapy, and a lot of medication later I was out of the hospital and on my feet. It’s a bit ironic, but Rachel was the first one I saw when I was discharged. I was walking along the driveway in front of the hospital and there she was with an outrageously sized bouquet in her tiny arms and a surprised look on her face. She smiled a grin that was made for the cameras and practically skipped in my direction to hand me the flowers.

“These are for you, Quinn. Santana told me you get discharged today and I wanted to be the first one to say my congratulations.” She looked proud to have done so and I couldn’t tell if it was because of me or because she knew she was first.

“Thank you, Rachel. I really appreciate it.” I remember mumbling to her through the petals. 

I guess nothing about the encounter or the conversation was inherently ironic, unless you consider Santana talking to Rachel as irony, but that’s the way I choose to describe it now. Perhaps it was just that Rachel was the one I had wanted to see the most when I breathed in the crisp winter air that morning, and, for the first time since I had known about my feelings for her, she just so happened to be there when I really wanted her to be.

It’s the middle of March now and I have approximately 3 weeks before I have to send in a statement to enroll to either Yale or Columbia. Either way I’ll be studying what I love: theatre, film, acting, now my only question is where I want to do it. To everyone else, they already believe that I’ve chosen Yale, and it may not be just to them, but to myself as well. Yale is the obvious choice here, despite the prestige of Columbia it just doesn’t stack up to New Haven. At the same time, New Haven just doesn’t stack up to New York. New York just has something that New Haven will never have, yet it’s completely likely that that something is something I will never have either. Unless my wildest fantasy can miraculously come true in the next 20 days. 

Then again, none of my fantasies have come true in the last 3 years. 

 

It takes a lot of tolerance to not scream at Rachel whenever she talks about Finn. To not list every way that they are not right for each other, or how he’s not good enough for her, or every stupid mistake that he has made knowing that she will forgive him if he just keeps coming back looking sorry enough to be accepted. It takes a lot of waiting for Rachel to see how she’s been so caught up with this one boy for so long that she doesn’t actually try to see anyone else when she’s blinded by his hulking form. Furthermore, if it takes a great wealth of patience for any of those things to happen, waiting for Rachel to look at me as anything other than a rival, a friend, or some sort of perfect doll takes a spectacularly grand amount from every fiber of my being. 

It almost makes me consider giving her some sort of clue toward my feelings for her. Or leaving a trail of breadcrumbs directly to a giant, flashing, neon sign displaying “I, LUCY QUINN FABRAY, LOVE RACHEL BARBARA BERRY!”, somehow written somewhere high in the sky where it can’t possibly be missed. I’m sure she’d appreciate the theatricality of it all, but, once again, my restraint won’t let me. It won’t let me do something as foolish and vulnerable as publicly declare my gay love for a girl who is currently dating my ex-boyfriend. Or to even do something as small as openly flirt, just once, with this girl that I was ready to accept giving up on when she was happily betrothed to that same boy. The sheer power that restraint holds on me and my actions is nearly unbreakable in its grip on mind, body, and soul. Somehow though, there is always a gap in the armor.

“I just heard Finn and Rachel broke up.” Santana remarks next to me in the middle of study hall while filing her already perfect nails. 

I pause for a moment, but steel my expression. Santana has always suspected something was not-straight about me, I don’t need to validate her thoughts in the last months of high school.

“What happened?” Good. Safe and general curiosity.

“Apparently the dwarf found out about the giant’s daddy issues. He said he’s going to the army to make it right and she’s already accepted her letter to NYADA. They’re going separate ways and they both know it. Personally, I totally agree that they might as well not waste their time dragging a dead horse.” 

She blows at her nails and I briefly ponder how she’s become so desensitized to matters that have little to do with herself. Finn’s father is definitely a touchy subject, and now he’s going off to the military? Also, Rachel honestly must feel heartbroken at the way everything has managed to crash all at once. My mind reels at the new information, and even though I know she has answers I refrain from asking Santana more questions. 

“How do you know all this?” I settle for instead.

“If you ever want to keep things a secret, don’t tell Kurt or Mercedes.” she replies finally looking satisfied at her work.

 

That gap in the armor definitely left an opening to pierce straight through my left lung. Others might consider that my heart, however, because somehow I’m in front of Rachel’s locker at the end of the day. A diligent student like her always goes to their locker before leaving for home. There’s nothing I can say to her about her breakup, and anything I do say will probably be misunderstood as gloating about their relationship not woking according to plan. This was a stupid idea, a momentary show of weakness because of my desperation to decide my future, I should go.

“Hello, Quinn.”

The arrow seems to twist a bit in my chest and I resist the urge to spin on my heels toward the shorter girl. Without a glance I can tell she’s not happy, her voice quiet and withdrawn just as it was years ago during freshman year and I was scouting for easy targets. The voice doesn’t even sound like it belongs to the freshly confident senior Rachel Berry, just a husk of what she could be. It frustrates me beyond belief.

“Rachel.” I cut through her veil of grief in an instant and she looks up at me shocked by my biting tone. 

“Is there something you want to discuss with me?” She asks clearly confused and slightly defensive. A sliver of a spark now ignited behind her big, brown eyes, manages to put my frustration at ease. My eyes soften.

“Not really, I was just on my way home.” I begin to brush past her, but she lightly stops me with her hand on my forearm.

She turns me around slowly and I can feel her grip on my right arm tightening ever so steadily. My eyes widen, and I race through thoughts arisen not two minutes ago, I shouldn’t have come here, anything I say will just be misunderstood, there’s no way that I can be able to make things better. All along, I never considered I would be the one to make her cry. Keeping her head down, her hold just gets tighter, but she seems reluctant to initiate any more contact without my approval.

My core rattles slightly. 

Beliefs, practices, habits, everything, shakes in my gut, and screams to not make any rash decisions. To not be completely heartless, but to steady her with some distance between our bodies. It’s rehearsed in my head to grab both of her arms, make her look directly at me, and tell her that things will be alright, that they will get better, no matter how it may seem now. That she has her whole life ahead of her, without the weight of some boy to drag her down. That she’s a star, that she always has been, and New York is just going to force her to burn brighter than ever before. My stomach steels itself to follow in my traditional customs, to exercise that self-restraint so ingrained in my behavior and play the tough and honest friend that just wants the best for her. 

I open my mouth to speak and begin to shift to the position, “Quinn…” she whispers. My lips snap shut and my left hand pauses mid-air. The crevice in that armor must have been five inches wide. That arrow must have severed the perfect amount of capillaries and sliced just the right combination of arteries and veins. It must have had a self-destruct feature that was set to explode at just this moment because suddenly I can’t feel my gut. Suddenly, the only feeling I can register is my heart pounding in my chest and an ache I haven’t allowed myself to understand in a long time. It cuts off any ideas about restraint.

“Rachel, come here.” My voice is shaking along with my hands, I move them hurriedly to the small of her back, before this feeling is gone and she gasps slightly at my quick movements. She’s surprised by the hug, but I’m absolutely astounded. I have rules for my hugs with Rachel: never too long, never too close, never too intimate. Basically, if it looks anything like Santana and Brittany’s hugs it’s out of the question. This contact blows every rule out of the water.

I feel my fingers wrap around her waist in a protective manner, desperately trying to grab at all of her sadness and hurt and absorb them into my body. My forearms squeeze her up and into me, closer than she’s ever been, and I can feel her hesitance as she lifts her arms up and around my neck. My biceps and shoulders flex in an attempt be bigger, to be enough for her to lean on and feel supported by, to be someone who she knows will lift her up. I hear a sharp intake of breath come from her lips, and I grasp just how close my face is to hers. I’m burrowed in the crook of her neck and have no way out of this position without ghosting my lips past her pulse point (a blasphemous thought in my mind). My chin brushes against her neck as I lift my head and I feel her tense underneath me. My brain is going haywire as her arms stay wrapped around my neck and our eyes meet as I am trying to let go. 

She seems frozen, with her lips slightly parted and her brown eyes staring into me with a look I’ve never seen before. It takes feeling her hot breathe directly on my lips to snap back to where we are, and who could be there, and perhaps most importantly, who I am, and who I’ve always been. Her eyes are clearly puffy and red, her face flushed from her tears, and I finally find it in myself to completely let her go. She follows suit, flustered and no longer crying, just licking her lips and facing slightly away from me.

“Sorry.” she whispers in a new voice. Not sad, angry, or even confused. Just new. The uncertainty already begins to drive me insane, so I decide to test just how long my armor has been broken for.

I grab her hand and begin to walk to my car.

 

If she has objections she doesn’t make them known as I lead her to the parking lot. Every time I reconsider what I’m doing I firmly tighten my grip in Rachel’s hand, reassuring myself that if not now then never. If we’re being completely honest this is my last shot; if I go to Yale I could potentially never see this girl again. If I ignore the calls from the other singing wannabes and make excuses about my sorority or my coursework piling up, I’m sure I can go years without setting eyes on the small girl shuffling behind me. Until one day, as I’m on the arm of some rich wall street businessman, we’ll pass by a flashing sign. Bold lights will illuminate with Rachel Berry in the center and I will think back to this moment. The moment where I let go of my fantasies, where I let my doubts get the best of me, where I let Rachel’s hand slip from mine.

I interlock my fingers with hers. I don’t need another regret on my list.

Finally, we reach my car, she seems unsure of what is supposed to happen now and I mirror her expression for a moment before fully facing her, our hands still locked. 

“Rachel.” I start, probably a tad too close for comfort. I take a conscious half-step back, “I want to help.” I pause. “In fact there’s nothing else I’d rather do.” At that her eyes furrow in confusion and meet mine, questions pouring from them. I ignore them in favor of continuing, “There’s a place I would like to take you, but it’s a bit far, and we might not be back until later tonight. Is that okay?”

She analyzes me for a moment, maybe wondering if this is some trick or if I’ve suddenly been replaced by someone much more caring and soft. Which is rude because I’ve always cared for Rachel…in my own way. 

Her nod is slow and hesitant, eyes toward the ground once again. I think about if she just wants to get away. Enough so that she’s willing to follow her self-proclaimed enemy to some unknown destination. Maybe just anyone and anywhere will do because she’s kind of desperate for things to be different than the truth. I stare on silently for a blink before I open the passenger door for her. My hand doesn't leave hers until she’s fully settled in before I reluctantly let go and shut the door. My entire body feels colder without the link, and then I think I understand Rachel’s desperation for change a bit more clearly. 

 

I’ve been driving for around an hour with only the faint sound of drums and guitars for background noise, the volume too low to hear any actual lyrics. Rachel hasn’t said a word, she simply watches out the window as we drive north on the freeway for the past 60 or so miles. I could be taking her someplace to murder her, and I don’t think she’d notice. Probably just keep staring out that window. It’s not until the music blares, at least in comparison with the other songs, that something startles me out of the haze that has settled in the car. 

I move to turn down the volume, if only for this track, “Sorry, this song is always louder than the others.” She either ignores me or doesn’t hear me because as the next words come out I hear her hum lightly with the music. 

She sounds perfect, but what else would I expect from her? It’s more than that though, it seems like she knows it too well, like she’s sung it before. 

“Do you like this song?” I blurt out before I can stop myself. God, I sound like I’m speaking to a fragile child. Though in my defense, I might not be too wrong about the fragile part.

She nods slightly, but just continues humming and staring out the window. 

I want to know more though. It’s not to her normal taste, although it’s not exactly too farfetched considering its a soft, acoustic melody. I want to know about why she knows it, and where she first heard it, and if she’s ever performed it before. I want to ask her a million questions about everything about her, because for some reason I feel like I actually can. I feel so liberated in this whole experience, like I’ve been living with a blanket over my head for so long, and now I finally get to taste what fresh air is like. I know Rachel is suffering, and every pulse in my body is ready to skip at the thought of hurting her further, but I’ve never felt this way before. I allow myself to relish in the newfound feeling for a moment before refocusing on the road.

The music has now changed and it’s much too quiet in the car so I reach to turn the volume back up.

“Do you have more from them?” she mutters quietly. 

Considering this is the most she’s spoken to me the whole drive, I’m taken off guard, but I nod and move to unlock my phone before handing it to her, “I have all their albums, you can play whatever you would like.”

She nods and turns her attention to the phone. I’m pretty sure she’s done talking for the rest of the ride, but a smile comes to my lips as the next song filters through the system. She's taken to humming the next few tracks and I can’t help but admire her voice even in this subdued form. Even when everything is so wrong, I can’t resist the nagging urge in the back of my head telling me that this is right. That this freeway and this drive and this haze and this moment is absolutely perfect. It’s probably the unfamiliarity with this liberation that spurs me on, or maybe it’s Rachel’s perfect humming from my passenger seat that blurs my thoughts, but I reach my right hand over to her left placed in her lap. 

She turns her head to me and I feel myself give a light smile with warm eyes back. They’re gentle eyes I’ve only given her from a safe distances before, and I can see a spark light in her own before the corners of her lips lift for a moment. Only a moment, before her thoughts seem to catch up to her again and she remembers that nothing is right, right now and she’s not supposed to be happy. 

I release her hand and refocus on the pavement.

 

Once we’re parked and have managed to walk to the main expanse before the river I take a deep nostalgic breathe, the scent taking me back to my childhood with my family, then to my pregnancy days, then to the summer that just passed. I’ve spent a lot of time here both with my family and alone, but this is the first time I’ve brought someone out to this spot specifically. This was the one place that I’ve always ran away to; much too far from home for anyone from school to find me, too obscure and forgotten for my mother or my sister to look for me, since they were the only ones who ever tried. An hour and a half out from home, I’d drive and forget about everything that seemed so far behind in the rearview mirror. This was the only place that made sense to take Rachel, who seemed to want to get away as much as I did.

She stands next to me before sitting down while still staring out at the river. I follow suit. “Where are we?” she asks.

“This is Shoreland, right on the border of Ohio and Michigan, with an excellent view of the Ottawa River. An incredibly obscure place where my father used to dump my family off at whenever he had business in Toledo.” I start in a matter-of-fact voice, “Fran used to complain about not getting to explore the city and being stuck in some town by a river, not even the lake.” I scoff lightly at the memory, “She never was one for nature and simplicity, but for some reason this place stuck with me, even if we are trespassing in someone’s backyard now that my father no longer owns the property.”

She nods and stares out into the river. Admittedly, it’s not impressive, in fact if I wanted to see water I could probably just find a lake within fifteen minutes of Mckinley, but that wasn’t what I wanted. 

“Why did you want to bring me here?” she asks cautiously, probably not wanting to offend my choice of getaway.

My sense of restraint begs to be acknowledged once again as I consider exactly what to say. Do I let her know that this is a very secret part of me, one that I run away to, and I honestly just wanted to share it with her so that maybe we could run to the same place together? That maybe if I show her a part of me aches to share our presence in the same location she’ll see where else we could be together? That it’s customary to show people that you love places that are special to you?

“I wanted to show you a place that’s far away from Lima. Somewhere that no one knows your name and there are endless possibilities to start over. I’ve come here so many times during good times and bad, and this place has never remained the same to me. I’ve always felt like I was starting over whenever I come here, or that I was a different person than the last visit.” I turn to face her completely and reach out with both my hands. She slowly takes them and my body warms from her touch. Her small hands are unfamiliar in mine still and I gaze at them for a moment before squeezing and growing accustomed to their fit.

I can tell she’s fascinated by how many times we’ve touched in the past few hours. She watches my hands like they may suddenly combust and moves them with a hesitance as I shift them in mine. Little does she know every movement makes me feel like my heart might explode. 

“I took you here because this place represents a new beginning for me, and I honestly believe that a new beginning is exactly what you need.” 

Her eyes darken and she lightly squeezes my hands signaling that she’s going to let go. My pulse skips and I’m afraid that I’ve done it, that I’ve said the wrong words, and now it just sounds like I’m saying I told you so, or that I’ve only hurt her further. I force my expression into stone before panic can reveal itself. 

“I just don't understand.” She huddles herself around her knees and turns back to the river. I impatiently wait for her to elaborate. “Everything fell apart so quickly. I can’t believe Finn would just blindside me like that, then refuse to discuss it. I honestly feel like we could have worked something out, but right now I just hate him for doing that to me. I hate him because I love him enough to try to find someway to work this out, but it’s like he doesn’t even want to try.” She squeezes her knees tighter and buries her head further into them. “It’s like he doesn’t love me enough to even try, and I think that makes me want to give up on him more than anything else.”

I stare in her direction. I can tell she’s distraught by her incoherent voice, her mumbling into her knees, and the rambling without her usual concise and efficient sentences. She’s repeating herself and her head is down, and it’s so unlike Rachel that I feel my frustration rise to the surface again, but this time I hold my tongue. She’s finally saying something about the matter at hand, and if I attack her her walls will be much higher than before, I let her continue with my silence.

She seems lost in her thoughts for a moment before she shakes her head, “I know he has his motives, but it’s like he hasn't even taken me into account. He just cut me out of the picture completely as soon as he’s found something he wants to do.” Fists clench at my side, and I bite my lip to keep from spewing out my thoughts. It’s ridiculous that Finn didn’t even go over the situation in his feeble mind to consider that Rachel could help him with his goals, or that she would want to figure something out with him. It’s incredibly narrow-minded and one-track and it sounds exactly like him. “I need to at least say my side of the story.” That gets my attention out of my mental lashing of Finn.

“I won’t leave it like this, I haven’t even had a chance to get my point across. I need to talk to Finn at least once before I let this go.” She pauses with much more determined eyes than desperate, and my heart sinks at the possibility of this being my last chance to ever say something to Rachel. To finally tell her something that is completely outrageous and passionate about how I’ve actually been feeling these past few years. How much it hurts to watch her pine after a guy who doesn’t even deserve her. 

I keep my mouth shut.

“And Quinn,” she turns to face me and for the first time all day her eyes are fully lit up as she bores into mine, “I need to thank you.” She smiles, and I give a weak one back. “Although I’m not sure I want to start a new beginning just yet, I think I can understand and accept it if it does happen to lead in that direction. And I don’t think I would have been able to accept that as easily without you bringing me to this place that obviously means a lot to you.”

That makes me feel better as we stare out at the river. I’ve let the armor I’ve had on for so long allow an arrow through and it lead to a few explosions in my heart. I’ve done a lot more than I ever thought I would let myself do for Rachel, and it’s what I always wanted to do, just take her away to a place where only we exist for a moment. I tell myself this as we stare out for the next hour and make light chat about my childhood memories here. I smile at her and she laughs at my old, childish antics, and for awhile I’m okay with this.

It’s when her back is to me and she’s walking back to the car that my armor starts to crumble again and I grab at her wrist. She turns around slightly startled, but still smiling until she sees the stress I feel scrunching my forehead.

“Is there something wrong?” she asks lightly and I know for sure that my self-restraint has always been impenetrable. Rachel’s a very smart girl, if she couldn’t tell that I loved her I’m sure no one could, at least not for sure. My grip on her arm tightens and I take a step forward into her personal space. 

She looks up at me alert, but refuses to back away for reasons that could be endless. As I stare down at her I wonder if I’m making this obvious enough. How much I want to say something, but even with everything broken down it’s still too hard to let slip past my lips. So I stare and try to write into her mind how much I want to at least try before I give it all up, how I just want her to know that I think of her too often and can’t stand the thought of never telling her how I feel. She gazes directly into mine before I think I imagine a flicker of recognition. A tiny flick of the light switch and I think she begins to understand why I can’t seem to let go, why I’m staring at her like I’ll never see her again. 

Then again it was probably just my wishful thinking. She smiles and cocks her head to the side slightly, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you speechless. It’s an unsettling thought.”

I scoff and grin down and to the side, it was probably just another fantasy, “Well I do tend to always know just what I have to say.” I respond hiding every inch of irony in my speech. It’s definitely wishful thinking.

I take her home with the music turned up a little louder and much more talking about anything and everything. It’s perfect and just what I want, only it’s not perfect or what I want. 

I decide to let restraint drag me the rest of the way home. 

END OF PART 1


	2. Part 2

I don’t speak with Rachel for the next five days. 

Friday was a blur and Rachel seemed to be on some sort of dire mission everywhere she went, so I purposefully avoided speaking with her to not have to listen to her game-plan concerning Finn. The weekend was normal, staying home until Santana and Brittany dragged me out of my room to go show the world just how popular and social we really are, even with the setback of glee club. What can I say? when you’re hot it doesn’t really matter that you like to sing and dance on a stage. In fact, when you add alcohol, it’s pretty encouraged. On Monday Rachel was missing from both school and glee, and when I saw Finn he was unusually withdrawn, making me question the situation further. I spoke to no one about my concerns, figuring that I could try to find Rachel the next day. When Tuesday came and went with no sign of Rachel except for glee, and then her basically sprinting out of the choir room after, I knew something had to be done. 

Although my first thought is to run after Rachel’s trail of dust, I calmly stand and follow the rest of the crowd out of the room. Then watching to make sure no one notices I start to speed walk in the direction of the bus station that Rachel always takes after school. Unfortunately for me, the bus has finally managed to come on time after glee and Rachel is already boarding by the time I reach the stop. Quickly I make a beeline for my car, swing the door open, and jam my key in the ignition. 

Vaguely it crosses my mind that it seems a bit creepy to be following Rachel like this, but I need to talk to her. Furthermore, she’s not gonna answer if I call or text her so this really is the best option. 

At least, that’s what I’ll tell myself for now.

When she gets off at the bus stop just outside of Lima Community College I’m curious, but not exactly surprised. Taking extra classes at community wouldn’t be much of a stretch for the overachiever, and as she enters a building with Fine Arts plastered on its red bricks I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes. Of course this is where she goes after we just spent hours singing. 

A small smile tugs at my lips because honestly, her determination is adorable, but I force it down as I pay for parking and leave the permit in my car. Never having been in Lima Community College, I know I feel out of place, the roads are too wide for comfortable crossing, the students too spread out for a feeling of belonging, Even within the Fine Arts building the ceiling is too high and the hallways too empty; definitely too open of a place for me. As I roam blindly in the hall I hear the distinct echo of Rachel’s booming voice.

“Hello, my name is Rachel Berry, and I would like to occupy one of your piano rooms for the next hour.” she recites in her typical “professional” manner, devoid of any distress that she was showing in the choir room before. I follow the echo.

“We’ve gone over this, kid, you don’t need to announce yourself, literally no one would notice if you just walked into one of the rooms and started playing. No one cares where you are.” a monotonous voice drawls out in response, and as I turn the corner a bearded man with thick rimmed glasses stares blankly at Rachel from a worn seat at a desk.

Rachel pauses in a weird way, and seems to shake it off before replying, “Yes, well, nonetheless, it would be rude to assume. No matter how many times you have informed me of my capability to ignore common procedures.” 

Thick rimmed glasses stare through.

“I will be going now.” she departs with her hair swishing past his beard as she continues down the floor. When she’s fully inside one of the rooms down the hallway I notice I’ve been waiting behind this corner the entire time, and I quickly step out to feel mildly less creepy.

“May I help you?” the glasses are now turned at me with only slightly more interest placed in their scrutinization than for Rachel.

“No, thank you.” I answer politely, then proceed down to the entrance I saw Rachel disappear behind. Through a glass panel in the door I see her staring down, her eyes glazed over as she has lightly placed her hand atop the piano’s keys. She seems frozen. 

Just as I’m about to reach for the handle and enter, I change my mind. This is definitely crazy now that I think of it, I’ve gone way past I need to speak with her and have fully gone into watching her like a crazy stalker. I rush to turn my back against the same wall as the door and slide down it with a sigh. Once again, when it comes to Rachel, I’m not even sure what to say. If I ask her what happened, am I just being nosy? If I tell her Finn’s a jerk, and he doesn’t deserve her will it just backfire in my face? If I tell her I’m here for her will she even let me listen? Before I can run over each bad scenario in my head I get a heart attack as the door swings open.

“Quinn? What are you doing here?” Rachel questions readjusting her bag on her shoulder, a slightly accusing tone slipping into her words.

“I followed you here.” Great. I’m a creep. “I mean, only because I needed to talk to you. When I get caught up in an idea, I tend to stop thinking about how crazy it is.”

She seems surprised for a moment then laughs, “I mean, I’ve always known so, but I never thought you’d admit how crazy you can get.”

“I said how crazy the idea is, not me.” I glare, but a hint of a smile peeks through, and I know she can see it. 

Her eyes light up as she grins at me, and I almost forget that she’s definitely upset about something, “My mistake. Miss Lucy Quinn Fabray could never possibly be crazy.”

My body heats at my full name with Rachel’s voice as the source and the adrenaline causes a slip in my thoughts, “Crazy for something, maybe.”

Once again I see a spark of something in Rachel’s brown orbs as she stares down at me, but before I can start to overanalyze I spring up from my seat on the floor, grab her hand, and lead her away from the prying glasses now staring at us from down the hall. I lead us back into the music room, which I realize is only about the size of a walk-in closet, and shut the door behind me.

Rachel looks a bit too shocked for the situation, evidenced by her dropping her bag, and attempts to speak, her words jumbling out, “Um, Quinn, I-I really want to-”

“What happened with Finn? He’s so clueless a majority of the time, I wouldn’t be surprised if he spewed some baseless nonsense. I promise I will listen to whatever you have to say about it, Rachel, and try to keep my excruciatingly low opinions about him to myself.” In my desperation to avoid what just happened, I spill out all of my bad questions at once.

“Oh.” she breathes out for a moment then seems to laugh a bit to herself. Weird. “Is that all this is about?”

My head tilts involuntarily and my eyebrow shoots up, “Is that all? Rachel you haven't spoken to anyone besides Finn in days, which has to be a record for you. Finn clams up whenever anyone asks about you, or even mentions your name, and you actually missed school yesterday, when you’re annoyingly obsessive about perfect attendance. There has to be more to it than ‘Is that all’.” 

She stares blankly in my direction, seemingly delving deeper and deeper into my eyes. Then she blinks and comes back to my prying questions in this cramped piano room. Her back against a wall, albeit comfortably, she pushes herself off of it and closer to me. There’s a gentle smile coupled with sad eyes, and although my instinct is to look away, I’m mesmerized.

“You’ve been thinking about me a lot lately.”

My heart starts beating a mile a minute. It’s a simple observation, and an obvious one considering I’m here, but those eyes, and that tone, and her words shake me. Defensive remarks sit at the tip of my tongue, but I swallow down the toxic bile. Her smile remains unwavering but her eyes blend from caring to analytical to understanding. She rests back on the far wall.

“Thank you, Quinn. You’ve done more than you could ever know just by showing me you care.” My eyes droop, but not before I notice a solemnity cross her features. “Finn won’t consider alternatives. He said he has to at least try to really know if what he wants is wrong. I’m not going to pretend that I’m not upset, but I understand where he’s coming from.” Again she lifts from the wall and approaches me, her hand running through her hair as she rests the other on the piano. “Once we graduate we’ll get our first real taste of freedom. I wouldn’t want to take that away from him by guilting him into coming to New York with me.” she takes a deep breathe that seems to solidify her peace with the matter. Then acknowledges my presence with a firm look into my eyes as she finishes her monologue. “Maybe we just have different dreams.”

She’s confident and assured, her voice steady in its sad message. She glows with an understanding and maturity that I could only hope to fake in my past eighteen years. For all my poise, acceptance of matters beyond my control has never sat well with me. Yet here she effortlessly masters a trait I’ve been striving toward since I gave Beth away.

She is a dream in herself, and I know I’ve fallen deeper in love.

My voice scratches at my throat as I force it out, “That’s very admirable of you, Rachel.”

She shines just as she did in Shoreland her sadness taking a backseat only moments after the solemn time. Bright, even as she is shrouded by an aura of dark. Gold stars really do suit her, “Although, I’m not sure my every action will match my words. I like to think I’ve matured from the sophomore who did anything to get to the quarterback.”

I can’t help but laugh at that, “I like to think I have too.”

For a moment, we are laughing together and I get a familiar warmth in my chest that only happens around Rachel. Her hand has moved from the piano to my bicep and I think vaguely to myself that Rachel really likes touching the people she’s around. It probably connects her more easily to them than she has had luck with before. Naturally, I lift my hand to the forearm attached to my left. She takes it as a sign to let go, but I squeeze her to let her know it’s okay. That I’m trying to connect back.

“I should let you get back to your practice. Wouldn’t want to go completely crazy and end up marveling in your majestic voice, now would I?” my tone is playful, but a private session in this closet doesn’t sound too bad.

Ha, closet…

She licks her lips, and instead of my heart speeding it brakes from full throttle because she has a glint in her eye that I’m beginning to recognize as a clear sign of her flirting, or at least I really hope that’s what it is, “You’re allowed to marvel whenever you like, Quinn.”

Okay, definitely flirting.

Before I can respond she’s picking up her bag from where it fell earlier, “I was planning on leaving anyway, though. Would you mind giving me a ride, please?” She smiles at me as she opens the door, as if she already knows I’m going to give her a ride.

She walks out before me, and I stand frozen for a second. Like staring at a star. I’m struck by the implications of this final minute, and quiet my head before it can start overthinking. I follow her out, but in a word I feel it: blinded. 

 

The drive to Rachel’s is pleasant from an outsider’s point of view. We’re laughing about insignificant matters we won’t remember by the time I’m in bed, the radio repeats overplayed pop songs in the background, and the road is clear of most other cars in our path. Though in my mind, I’ve already screeched my tires along Rachel’s driveway, forced her door open, pushed her out mid-drift while bouncing off the curb, and burned rubber toward my own home. I just don’t know right now. 

Rachel was flirting, right? That was flirting without a doubt…right? Usually, I can tell if someone wants something from me-and exactly what it is they want-if they so much as glance in my direction. Boys, girls, it never mattered, I knew I could have Finn wrapped around my finger in a second, I knew Santana was gay in the very minute that we met, but this was different, this was Rachel. I didn't anticipate Rachel ever liking me back. Not once in all of my fantasies did she ever want to be more than platonic friends, even in those make-believe dreams I never allowed myself to indulge in the idea that I hadn’t already fucked that up royally through all of our drama in the past years. There was nothing that could have prepared me for Rachel even jokingly flirting with me like this. So yeah, maybe I was overreacting, but I’m not used to being caught off guard.

I collect myself enough by the time I actually do pull into her driveway to think about my next moves. Do I walk her to her door? Should I casually let her out, say something witty and then speed away? Oh God, what if she invites me inside?

She turns to me after unbuckling her seatbelt, “Thank you, Quinn. Although I was shocked to see you had followed me after glee, I’m really glad you did.” 

She smiles and my heart settles, finally knowing what I want to do. I unbuckle my own seatbelt and lean forward toward her pink lips. I hear a light gasp escape them as they part quickly to snap back shut. Slowly, I smirk to myself and reach my hand over to her side, grasping the handle behind her and pushing the door open. The cold air shocks her into the moment.

“You’re welcome, Rachel. I’ll see you tomorrow.” A satisfied grin is on my face that I can’t help but let show, she looks so cute when she’s surprised. 

She licks her lips quickly, glances down at the console, then softly breathes out, “Okay. Tomorrow then.”

She leaves the car in a hurry, but not before I see a light pink blush covering her cheeks. I bite my lip to contain a rushing surge of giddiness running through my body. As my fingers grip the steering wheel tighter, I recall that when I was leaning into Rachel’s space, she didn’t back away.

 

This time, a week and a half goes by without any significant contact with Rachel. We say hi and make small talk a handful of times but nothing that makes my heart go insane like it did in the piano room. With four days until I have to send in the acceptance to Yale or Columbia I’ve given up on it, yet my armor has all but deteriorated in desperation despite my resolution. Not to mention, I know for a fact that Santana has noticed.

It’s after glee when she finally confronts me about it in her typical fashion, which is basically just being the caring bitch she is.

“So when are you finally going to tell me? It’s almost pathetic watching you scramble like this, Q.” I guess I can take it as a blessing that we’re alone right now.

“What has your overactive imagination come up with now, Santana?” 

Her eyes narrow and I realize I’ve made a mistake, she knows I get defensive when I’m hiding something. Another sign that I’m slipping, “I know, Quinn. Like, I really know, and I’ve tried giving you time to ask for my advice, but now I’m impatient.”

My heart beats faster because I’ve never said it out loud, but my lips are sealed. 

“You’re gonna make me say it?” She stares for a moment more, “Fine, you like the dwarf, I don’t know for how long, but apparently a while cuz you followed her to that community college just to talk to her, and I know you wouldn’t do that just for a friend.”

I stare her down for awhile, but her face is stoic and sure.

“How the hell do you know I followed her?”

“Cuz I followed you, duh.” She shrugs as if it’s obvious, and I have vague flashbacks of the first time she was left alone in my room and I came back to misplaced clothes, makeup, and trash strewn all over the floor. This crazy, nosy bitch.

“What the fuck, Santana?!” 

“I pry. It’s what I do, Quinn, you’ve known this for years so let’s get over that and move on to the real issue: your gay love for a New York-bound Rachel Berry.” 

I want to tell her to shut up, to hit her, or do something that will just make her pause for a moment, but I’m at a loss because someone else finally knows. Someone else knows and it just feels so…good. It feels like letting go of a ten ton weight I’ve been carrying for years, like a cool breeze in summer, I finally feel free.

I feel so free in fact, that my eyes begin to water, and I curse that more than anything.

As she usually does when Britt or I start crying, Santana panics for a moment before pulling a 180, “Woah, Quinn, look, I’m sorry. I’ll just pretend I don’t know anything. It’ll be easy, I’ll just blank it out of my memory like I did sex with Puck.”

I laugh at that and shake my head, “It’s not that,” I take a deep breathe, “I just didn’t know it would feel this good to have someone know about it.”

She’s silent, and my head is down so I can’t tell what she’s thinking, but I feel a soft hand on my shoulder before I hear her reply, “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

I tell her almost everything because I’ve given up on hiding it. I love Rachel, and the last two weeks has been so much, so fast, but I know that it’s going to end in four days. It’ll all be pointless if I don’t say something soon, a fact I still hide from Santana because that’s how sure I am that I’ve taken this as far as it will go. Telling her would just get me a tongue-lashing about how if I don’t do anything I’ll never know, but I already know that. I already know, and I still haven’t tried. I’m going to New Haven and Rachel’s going to New York. These last moments were just a happy occurrence that I’ll look back on when I’m in college for a few years like ‘yes, I remember those crazy high school days,’ and that’s that. 

I’m free now because at least someone knows, even if it’s not the exact person I wanted it to be.

 

Tomorrow I have to confirm my acceptance, but today, Rachel hits me with a curveball.

“…what did you say?” I breathe out.

She’s nervous, balling her hands into fists at her side as she repeats herself, “I think you’re amazing, Quinn. You’re kind, beautiful, intelligent, clever, funny. I’ve always known so, but in the past few weeks I think I’ve really let myself see it. You’re the whole package, really. I know you’re going to excel in anything you put your mind to.” She pauses and bores into my stunned gaze, “I know you’re going to do great at Yale.”

There’s a stall in her speech that cries for unspoken words, she’s not saying something that I know she wants to, but I have no idea what it is. I’m speechless because we’re in the middle of an empty hallway, and my hopes are too high for them to be dashed and me to remain stable. 

She approaches me with a determined stride, and everything happens too quickly for it to register in my frazzled mind before she’s already walked out the double doors at the end of the hall.

She hugged me, tight, trying to tell me something that I can’t imagine without letting my hopes get in the way of my rationality. More than that though, she kissed my cheek. Lingering as if she didn’t want to go. I’m hyperaware of the skin she kissed, and I turn to the doors to find she’s long gone, and I’m here alone.

Now what?

 

The next day I make my decision. 

Rachel doesn’t acknowledge my existence. Not a glance, not a word. 

Santana asks a million questions, and I just shake my head.

Exactly at midnight, I receive a text from Rachel., ‘Where are you going to college?’

My eyebrows furrow at the message, and suddenly everything is pieced together. Someway, somehow, Rachel knows about Columbia, she’s known since she approached me in the hallway two days ago, that must explain the abrupt confession and the restraint she was so desperately showing.

I reply immediately, ‘How did you know’

A text comes within the minute, ‘Ive been spending a lot of time w Ms Pillsbury since me and Finn broke up. She didn't know no one else knew about it’

I’m still confused at the message so I type out my thoughts hurriedly, ‘That doesn't explain why my college apps came up’

This time the reply is much slower, enough to make me sit up in my bed and take deep breaths to exercise my patience. I’m not sure what to expect when my phone chimes.

‘I talked about you a lot’

My heart skips a beat and my hands shake as I reply, ‘Why’

The chime comes faster this time, ’Because I thought about you a lot’

I’m getting furiously impatient now, knowing that I need a clear cut answer to accept what Rachel is spelling out to me.

’Why’

Her answer is slow and as I read it I can hear her voice, just as slow and deliberate, ’Where are you going to college, Quinn?’

 

As I begin to unlock my locker in the morning, a presence looms behind me that I can’t ignore. When I’ve gotten my books for my first class and pack it away, simultaneously shutting my locker, the presence barrels into me nearly slamming me against the locker.

It’s the first time we’ve been in this hallway with so many people around, and this hug feels just as intimate as the last we shared just two days ago. She embraces me tighter and buries her head into my neck with a closeness that’s making me dizzy. So I gulp, and after properly holding her back I lightly push her away my hands remaining on her shoulders.

She looks up at me with big brown eyes and instantly starts rambling, “I didn’t want to do anything before because I was a mess, and honestly, I’m still a mess, and I don’t know anything for sure besides the fact that I feel something here that I never expected to before, and I couldn't let you just go without at least getting it off my chest. So here it is, Quinn, I don’t know what it means, and I hate that I didn’t have the time to properly work my way through it, but I need you to know.”

I stare down at her as she takes shallow breaths toward the ground then returns those frantic eyes back at me, “I feel something for you, Quinn. And I don’t want to rush into anything, because I’m still working through the Finn thing, but I won’t deny that I do.”

I smile gently down at her, and for some reason I find it extremely hard to care that anyone could have heard Rachel’s confession, and could be spreading the news as I think. I embrace her again, just as I did when I first found her looking so defeated in front of her locker three weeks ago, my lips brushing lightly against her ear. 

“It’s a good thing you’ve got four years to figure it out then, right?”

Her smile crinkles into my shoulder and I can’t help but return it into the now nearly empty hallway. As she lets go and turns that blinding smile toward mine, I notice a shift in my body. It’s light, a relaxation settling as the last bell rings to get to class. 

The sensation is warm, and as I watch Rachel rush to pull herself together, I think I recognize the feeling as something brand new, something that feels a lot like letting go.


End file.
